The Right Words
by lesmisgirl
Summary: "You can make anything by writing." C.S. Lewis. It's been five years since Dickon left for the war and Mary hasn't heard from him in two. Yet when a familiar stranger shows up at The Library's Benefit, Mary can't help but notice some similarities between the famous writer and her long lost friend.
1. Prologue

The Garden was wearing its best spring attire that morning. It was draped in silks of pink roses and necklaces of violets. A perfume of the finest lilies filled the air. The sunrise shining over the hedges was so gorgeous that you wished it would never end.

Mary wished it would never end. She wished that it could just stay morning forever.

She didn't come out to see the sunrise all that much. It was always too early and the mornings were too cold.

This morning was different. Mary had to get up early.

She had to see Dickon before he left for France.

Mary wished that there was not a war. She wished Dickon hadn't volunteered. He wasn't even old enough. Tall enough to pass for eighteen, but hardly past sixteen in truth.

And now he was leaving. Off to God knows where in France doing God knows what.

Mary had to stay. Mary had to stay and prepare for her debut in two years. She had to become a proper lady.

She couldn't see herself worrying about things as frivolous as dresses in a time of war. It all felt so...selfish.

Mary tried not to dwell on it too much as she sat waiting in the garden, her blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

A rustle to her side signaled Dickon had arrived.

He looked so handsome in his uniform.

_His funeral attire_, thought some cynical part of her. She put the thought aside as quickly as possible.

"What time does the train leave?" Mary asked quietly.

"Eleven," Dickon answered with his Yorkshire lilt. How she'd miss his wonderful voice.

With Dickon off to war and Colin at college, Mary was all alone at Misslethwaite.

Mary nodded, "Little less than an hour then."

"I've time," He replied, coming towards her. The uniform made him stand more upright. "Train station isn't far."

Mary nodded once more, pulling at her blanket, "I've brought something for you."

She managed another small smile at Dickon again.

Mary thought about when he told her he had enlisted last week and how her heart had stopped when he said it.

"I can't jus' sit aroun' while everyone else is out fightin'," he'd explained. "It's my duty to go."

Mary knew that. Everyone young man felt that way. War was a place of honor. A place where men do heroic deeds and sing peppy songs.

But Mary had also seen the men who had returned. They had no honor left. They sang no peppy songs.

Mary pulled off the string she'd had around her neck. A key brass skeleton key hung from it like a charm.

Dickon looked a bit perplexed as she put the key into his hand.

"I had another key to the garden made," Mary said. He was about to speak but she put up a hand. "It didn't cost much, honestly." Gingerly, she clasped his hands over it, "The garden is as much yours as it is mine. Probably more so."

Dickon shook his head, "It's always been tha's, Mary. But thank you for the key." He looked down and she noted that their hands were still together. Neither one of them pulled away. "I've got somethin' to give thee too."

Mary looked up a bit quizzically. Then, with a concentrated face, Dickon leaned down and kissed her right on the lips.

It wasn't passionate or sensual or anything like that. It was just a simple, sweet, brush of a kiss that felt as light and soothing as gossamer.

It only made her sadder.

"Promise you'll come back," Mary said seriously. "Promise."

"I promise," He promised. "I'll keep that promise. I'll come back, Mary. I will."


	2. An Eventful Day

**Five years later**

Mary awoke to the creaking sound of her door being opened.

"Mornin', Miss," Her maid, Annie, was unusually cheery for so early in the morning. Everything started early in the morning in London. She missed the comfort of Misslethwaite and the comfort of waking whenever she felt. Now she was woken promptly by Annie every morning and by the light that flooded through her windows like a great yellow ocean.

Mary sat up, extending her arms up then out.

Annie gave a cheery smile, Mary's undergarments draped over her arm, "You've got quite a busy day, miss. "Lunch with Lord Navarlen, tea with Miss Victoria, and the the Library's Benefit tonight."

Sliding her feet over the side, Mary stood up and let Annie remove Mary's nightgown and put on her corset. Mary did not whimper as groan as the corset pulled tighter and tighter. She was used to it by now.

She was to be a proper society girl. It was expected.

"Thank you, Annie," Mary said to the small girl. Annie had come to work for her about three years ago when Martha had taken an opportunity to go to France and be a nurse. Annie was sweet, and Mary had grown to care for her over the years, but she missed Martha.

She missed all of the Sowerbys.

Especially Dickon.

_Don't think about Dickon_, she scolded herself.

They used to correspond regularly. They used to write letters all the time telling each other every insignificant detail of everything.

But the letters eventually became scarce and then stopped all together.

She hadn't heard from him in two years.

He could be dead. Or captured.

Or maybe he found another girl to write to.

Mary would never know.

Annie dressed Mary in a dress of light blue with a pink floral print embroidered into the bodice. Her hair was up and back with a gem encrusted pin.

Mary was beautiful. She knew that about herself, but was not vain about it. She knew that she was very pretty, it was in her family. She was the spitting image of her aunt who had been well known for her looks.

Mary had no trouble finding suitors in London. More than half were dreadful boars and the other quarter were complete snobs. But she had found one who was not too terrible.

Lord Navarlen's courtship of her had been very sensible and very agreeable. He was rich and well respected and sure to give her a comfortable situation.

What more could she want?

She had to be married. Colin was to inherit Misslethwaite, not her. Plus he'd met some girl while off at college and they were set to be married soon. Mary couldn't be living there while they started a family. It would be awkward and Mary had no desire to be the spinster aunt.

Lord Navarlen was not a bad man. He was not a particularly interesting man, or talkative man, or passionate man, but he was kind and would do his duty well.

Mary shouldn't object to him. She could've gotten a lot worse.

She could've gotten Lord Smalls, the anti-feminist pig; or Mr. Graham, the raging drunkard; or Lord Whimell, who said his late wife died of suicide though rumors were that there were darker matters at play.

Yes, Mary could've ended up a lot worse. She should be grateful.

But it wasn't the love story she wanted. She wanted a true love story, like the ones in the Austen books. Like the one in _Across the Bay_.

It was the most excellent book by this new author named J. S. Dowers about a man who pines after the daughter of an evil war general of the opposing side.

It was romantic, yes, but also full of adventure and battles and epic fights of good and evil.

Mary was a Romantic at heart: she wanted to fight for a cause. She wanted to go out and change the world.

She didn't _want_ to give parties and run a house.

But alas, Mary wasn't born to wage a war. She wasn't born with great powers that would change the world forever.

That did not mean her life was worthless.

So maybe she won't be remembered through the ages, but she would be remembered by someone. Perhaps she won't change the world, but she could change someone's world.

If her life was to be throwing parties and keeping house, she would have the finest house and the best parties.

Mary would not think herself worthless.

Because if she thought herself worthless, she gave everyone else permission to as well.

"His new book is set to come out next week," Annie said. She must have noticed Mary gazing at her copy of _Across the Bay_. Annie instantly flushed, "Sorry to be curious, Miss, I-"

Mary laughed kindly, "I've told you before, Annie, you don't need to apologize for making conversation."

Annie bit her lip, "Sorry, Miss."

Mary was Annie's first ever lady to attend. When she started three years ago, Annie was a year younger than Mary. Now Mary was nineteen and Annie eighteen, though Annie still kept her childlike innocence. Constantly afraid of messing up, Annie had become quite adept at apologizing for things she needn't be forgiven for.

"I'm very excited for the new book," Mary pinned her earrings on. "I can't remember the title."

Annie piped up, "_The Castle's Key_, I believe." She opened her mouth, presumably to apologize, but shut it quickly.

The clock chimed ten.

"Goodness, I better get down to breakfast," Mary said as she stood up. She had no doubt everyone else was already at the table. Her Uncle Archibald had come with her for the London Season. In the house as well was a sixteen year old girl named Zelda and her elder, married sister Elizabeth. Zelda was a wild little thing that her matronly sister desperately tried to wrangle.

To what avail, Mary could not say.

_Lunch, tea, then the party.  
_  
It was sure to be an eventful day.


	3. A Promise Kept

The library was not a small simple building with a few encyclopedias.

The library was a large and grand building with two whole floors brimming with every book imaginable.

For the benefit, the main lobby had been converted into a dining area with light food and beverages. The remainder of the floor had a space for dancing and a large area for socializing. There was also a small area set aside for where J. S. Sowers would be presenting his new book.

An exciting night indeed.

Mary entered on the arm of Lord Navarlen looking around for someone more interesting with whom to spend the night.

She spotted her dear friend Victoria across the room.

"Might I go see Miss Benly?" Mary asked of her fiancé.

He smiled handsomely, "Yes, of course, dearest." She returned a gentile smile and began walking to her friend.

_Andrew Navarlen is a good match_, Mary, she told herself as she did every day. _A kind and caring man._

_He's wasted on me. He deserves someone who loves him. I do not love him._

You could learn to.

It's not fair to him.  
  
_None of this is fair_, she thought as she looked at the extravagance of the party. She thought of the boys off at war, forced there by circumstance.

This party seemed frivolous compared to their suffering.

Victoria stood to greet her friend, "Mary, you are a vision in pink."

It was a new dress she had made for the gala. It was light pink enriched in lace design. Her corset was so tight she thought she might burst.

She knew in most places that fashion was changing. Women were forsaking bustles and corsets for more practical styles.

London society was not yet one of those places.

"You're stunning in gold," Mary replied.

Victoria was quite possibly the most beautiful girl of Mary's acquaintance. Her blond ringlets framed her heart shaped face heavenly. Truly a beauty.

"Have you seen the author yet?" Victoria whispered excitedly.

"No," Mary felt her excitement fluttering against her chest. It would probably burst out of her if not for the corset. "Is he here?"

Victoria nodded with a small smile trying itself on her dainty lips, "He's right over there talking to Zelda Roth."

_That minx_, Mary thought. She hadn't entirely meant it, but Zelda was quite a flirt. She was probably talking to J. S. simply because he was famous. Mary doubted she'd even read his beautiful words. Zelda planned on being an actress and was willing to social climb by any means necessary.

_Come now, you don't have some claim over him because he's your favorite author._

Mary looked over to where Victoria had motioned.

J. S. Dowers was much younger than Mary imagined.

He looked about twenty. He was tall and slender with slicked down hair of a coppery color. He had a small beard and mustache that circled his mouth. The mouth that had a curious little smile about it.

"He's very handsome," Victoria said.

Mary just nodded. Zelda was hanging on Dowers, making a right fool of herself. He wasn't truly paying attention. As if he knew Mary was looking, he turned his head to look at her.

He just kept looking at her. It was malicious or flirtatious or mysterious. It was just familiar. Like he was looking at an old friend.

Mary knitted her eyebrows together and looked back to her friend, "Does he look a tad familiar to you?"

Victoria studied him again, "Not that I can recall. I heard he's traveled abroad for many years."

Then Mary did not know him. She hadn't left England in her life.

Lord Navarlen was soon at her arm, "Come and meet some of my university friends."

An order, not a request.

_He could be worse_, she told herself. _He could be a whole lot worse._  
**OOO**  
Dowers just kept looking at her.

It seemed that any time Dowers looked up from his reading, his eyes would shift over to Mary. It was like there was some secret he was trying to tell her. Something he wanted to convey that she could not hear.

_The Castle's Key_ was mesmerizing. His tales of kings and queens vying for love and the crown were so beautifully written. His words were like poetry.

Once the reading was done, Dowers disappeared in seemingly an instant.

_How do I know him_? Mary hadn't a clue.  
**ooo**  
"Care for a dance?" Andrew Navarlen asked.

"Of course," Mary answered. As if she could answer anything but yes.

As they danced, her eyes searched for another. J. S. Dowers was nowhere to be seen. As she turned about in time with the music, Mary kept glancing over Andrew's shoulder, looking for the elusive author.

"Looking for someone?" Andrew noted with a small smirk.

Mary blushed, "Mr. Dowers. I did so want to talk to him about his books, but he seems to have vanished."

"Just like those artist types," Andrew said wistfully. "Always thinking of themselves."

Mary frowned at the peculiar comment but was too busy minding her own thoughts to dissect his.

"Though I did overhear that he was in the back study room."

She grinned, "Why Lord Navarlen, you are my hero."

He shrugged, "Not quite. And you can call me Andrew."

Mary simply flashed another smile. Andrew still felt too familiar a name. She wasn't sure how familiar she wished to be.

After they finished their dance, Lord Navarlen escorted Mary to the study where a small crowd surrounded the seated author. He was reclined in a chair a brandy in hand. His very crisp suit fit him nicely. His smile was so welcoming and gentile that Mary wanted to go right up and share a drink with him.

He was handsome indeed, but certainly not vain. There was an air about him that showed that handsomeness and society were new to him, but he didn't appear awkward in the slightest. He was the picture of charm.

"Mary!" Zelda threw her arm into the air and waved at her friend. The rest of the group turned around. Mary recognized only Victoria and Elizabeth and a few others.

Mary gave a small, polite wave back.

Zelda continued, boisterous as ever, "Mary just adores your books, James." _James, so that's what the J was for_. "Oops," she giggled, "I mean _Miss Lennox_ adores your books _Mr. Dowers_." Zelda laughed, the only one in the room to find it funny.

She's been drinking. Mary noted her sister's sour face of embarrassment.

Mr. Dowers was all politeness, "I'm so happy you do, Miss Lennox. I'm very grateful for all of my readers."

His eyes lingered on Mary's a bit too long, as if expecting her to say something.

As if it hadn't happened at all, he looked back to his other fans.

"I'm just so very humble that my work is appreciated," he continued. "Many authors far more talented than I were never as readily accepted."

The crowd all replied with their gratitudes. _"You are so talented!" "You're the best writer of them all!" "You are wonderful!"_

But he just looked at Mary again. She remained silent.

_How very brazen he is_, she thought, _to gaze at me so when I am on the arm of another man.  
_  
_Though there is so obvious sign of attachment between me and Andrew. Our chemistry is more of brother and sister than husband and wife._

The clock chimed midnight. Dowers took the final sip of his brandy then stood up.

He clasped his hands together, "You have all been lovely, but I simply must be leaving." Various moans. "I'm certain I'll see you all again during the season, but I simply must be off." He reached for his hat, but found it missing.

A giggling Zelda appeared, the black hat swallowing her small head.

Dowers took it back with a smile, "Thank you, Miss Roth." He nodded at the group, "The new book is out on Tuesday." Dowers brushed past all of them, leaving a breeze behind as he walked past Mary.

_He smells of books and dust...and roses.  
_  
She knew the smells of flowers very well from her childhood of gardening. She traded her shovels and spades in for corsets and dresses a few years ago. Gardening was for children and Mary had to grow up.

And the garden didn't feel right without Dickon. It lost its balance and life. The flowers lost their scent. The grass lost its luster.

She still kept a small garden in London. It wasn't much more than a rose bush but it was her's.

Dowers paused at the door. He turned around.

"_The Castle's Key_ is probably my best work. You'll all love it, I promise."

His eyes locked with Mary's, "And I'll keep that promise. I will."

Dowers put on his hat, nodded, and left the room.

Mary Lennox could not breathe.


	4. A Pen Name

_This can't be true._

Mary repeated that to herself nearly every minute. Other mantras included: _You are a fool. You're acting like a child. This doesn't happen in real life. This isn't a romance novel._

James S. Dowers was not Dickon Sowerby. There was no way. None at all.

Impossible.

But they way he looked at me...

Impossible.  
  
Mary sat at her vanity, staring into the eyes if her reflection. Her long hair was tied into a braid that fell over her shoulder and past her breast. The moon shone off her porcelain skin as she stared into her blue eyes.

"You are a fool, Mary Lennox." She spoke the words aloud, as though that made then truer. "A bloody, romantic fool."

_You will marry Andrew Navarlen. You will do what is expected. What is grown up. You will not chase some day dream because you fancy yourself an adventure.  
_  
_J. S. Dowers is not Dickon Sowerby._

He is not.

He is not at all.  
**Ooo**  
Two days later, Mary heard a knock at the door during breakfast.

"I'll get it," Elizabeth announced. She always got the door. She felt it improper if the younger, unmarried women opened the door.

"We are not a place of ill repute," she would say. Mary hadn't the faintest how answering the door would make her a harlot, but there was no point in disputing Elizabeth.

Half a minute later, she returned with a letter in her hand and a gaze set upon Mary.

"It's for you," the envelope she extended had Mary's name on it written in the most elegant red script. Elizabeth took a letter opener from a side table and laid it on the dining table.

Mary opened the letter.

_Miss Lennox,  
It would be my privilege and honor if you would join me and my guests for a party celebrating the release of my new book on Monday 3. You may bring one additional guest if you choose. The party will begin at five. Dinner will be served at seven. Formal attire is to be worn._

Signed,  
James S. Dowers  
  
Elizabeth scoffed, "His letter writing is not poetic in the least. I can't see the fascination with that man."

Mary clutched the letter to her chest, "Oh, come now Elizabeth. You must get exhausted from being so inexplicably contrary all the time."

Elizabeth sputtered a few shocked words but quickly sulked away, which is what Mary had wanted.

She clutched the letter even tighter, _J. S. Dowers has sent me an invitation!_

I'm going to a party at J. S. Dower's house!

Monday...  
  
"That's today!" She gasped, pulling the letter out. Mary looked at Zelda, "It's tonight! The letter must've gone out late."

Zelda wasn't listening, "_You _got an invitation? He didn't even talk to you! I can't believe I wasn't invited."

Mary noted the invitation, "I'm allowed a guest. Would you like to come?"

Zelda's melancholy turned to bliss almost instantly, "Oh yes! Thank you, Mary! You're wonderful!" Zelda stood and twirled around a bit, giggling.

Mary couldn't help but laugh at the girl's sudden change in mood.

"You're welcome. The party's tonight."

Zelda covered her heart, "Tonight?! I have to get a new gown! I must have new ribbons!" She bolted out the doorway. "**LIZZIE! TAKE ME TO TOWN IM GOING TO A PARTY**!"

Mary rolled her eyes and rubbed her fingers over the letter.

_I'm going to a party._  
**ooo**  
"Do I look all right?" Zelda pushed around the beads on her gown. "Do I look modern and sophisticated?"

Mary turned from the carriage window to look at her young friend. Zelda's gown was long and slim and a shimmering shade of green. The gems and beads sewn upon it must have weighed it down a bit and made sitting uncomfortable, but Zelda did not complain.

Mary smiled at her, "You look beautiful."

Zelda blushed, "Not nearly as beautiful as you."

Mary looked at her own dress. It was navy with a tight bodice and sheer sleeve with stripes of darker cloth. The skirt flowed down to the floor with small stitched patterns.

Zelda noted Mary's hair, "Your's is always so dark and curly. Mine is the color of straw and straight as a pin."

"You could cut it," Mary suggested. "Girls are cutting their hair all the time in America."

"Yes, but if _I_ cut _my_ hair, Elizabeth would cut my heart out," Zelda sighed. The carriage shook and then halted. "We're here."

The door opened and the cool night air spilled in. Mary wrapped her shawl around herself as they stepped out onto the gravel.

His house was larger than Mary had supposed. He must make good money from writing, or his money was old. Whatever the source, his house was a decent sized home.

Inside, there were more people than Mary had envisioned. Old money, new money, artists, aristocrats, lawyers, and liars. Though the variety was large, the number of bodies was not staggering. One could still move comfortably about the crowd.

Mary lost Zelda within five minutes of the party.

_That girl..._ She scolded her.

Mostly, Mary didn't want to be alone. There was no one at the party whom she knew very well. She didn't want to whole night to be mindless small talk.

"Mary, what on earth are you doing here?"

She turned to the familiar voice.

"Colin!" She beamed, "It is so fine to see you! When did you get to town?"

Colin, her cousin, was wearing a suit and sipping champagne. His blonde hair had been slicked to one side of his thin face. His height was equal with Mary's now, though for most of her childhood she had been much taller than him.

"Just last night," he told her. He finished his drink, "After Evelyn called off the engagement."

Mary froze. Honestly, she had not cared much for Evelyn. The girl was very cold and her words were always biting and cynical. When around Colin, she made him become that way.

Evelyn knew that Colin had once fancied Mary when they were children. They had been hardly more than ten when this happened, but Evelyn still saw Mary as a threat to her relationship. She was always very overbearing around Colin.

Mary did not like this girl at all, but Colin had loved her very much.

Mary clasped his hand, "I am so very sorry, Colin."

He shrugged but would not meet her eyes, "It's how it is sometimes." Colin sat his drink down on a waiter's tray and took another, "Let's not be melancholy. We're at a party!"

Mary smiled and took his arm. "How do you know J. S. anyway?"

"Never met the man," Colin admitted. "I was to be Evie's date but when she split from me she decided not to come to London. I figured I'd put the ticket to use anyhow."

Mary nodded, "Well, I'm happy you've come. It seems the girl I brought had abandoned me."

Colin and Mary walked into the next room. It had a few more people inside of it. It appeared to be a hall of some sort but the tables had wen cleared for people to mingle and dance.

"How do _you_ know this author fellow?" Asked Colin of his cousin.

Mary answered, "I hardly know him at all. He was at the library benefit a few nights ago and we exchanged nothing more than a few words."

The music played in the background, a simple waltz that Mary had heard during her time in London. The social dances here were very high and sophisticated but Mary at times would miss the fun, sprightly dances of the country halls.

"Excuse me, may I intrude?" said a gentile voice to Mary's left. She turned to see the elusive host himself standing there.

Mary felt those strange feelings in her stomach when she looked at him. She hadn't had this feeling all too much in her life, but every time she did it felt familiar. As if it was something ingrained in her since birth. Something very natural.

His smile was so light and kind and it pushed back the small amount of hair on his face. He looked so trusting and loving with a bit of hidden mischief in his eyes.

She smiled, "Of course, sir." Mary gestured to Colin, "Mr. Dowers, This is Colin Craven, my cousin."

"A pleasure," Mr. Dowers was all sincerity.

Colin squinted, as if hard pressed to remember some trivial fact, "The pleasure is mine. Do I know you from somewhere?"

Mr. Dower's bottom lip protruded a bit as he made a look of upmost sincerity, "I don't believe so."

Colin sighed, "Ah well. Thought I'd ask." He walked away and Mary felt a wave of nerves overtake her at once.

_Calm down, he is just a man. You've talked to many men before. You are excellent at small talk.  
_  
_Yes, but this man is an artist. A painter with words. Your small talk about weather and the city would be trivial and unintelligent to one such as him._

"Are you excited for your book to be released, Mr. Dowers?" Mary asked, hoping that question would be stimulating but not unintelligent or prying.

Mr. Dowers walked with her to where others were dancing. He took her waist in one hand and her right hand in the other.

"Very much so," he answered as they began to step in time to the music. His eyes were so nice. A mixture of light and dark, as if they couldn't decide with color to be. "Are you?" He asked tea singling.

Mary laughed, "Oh yes. I always love a good read."

He smiled halfheartedly, "They're not all that good, truly. Not as good as some of these new American authors I've been reading. They're doing so truly remarkable work over there."

"I'd love to travel to America," Mary said wistfully. "It just seems so..."

"Free?" He finished.

She simpered, "Yes." Mary caught herself, "Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No, this is the best conversation I've had in weeks," Mr. Dowers grinned. "Your fiancé is lucky to have you."

"Lord Navarlen and I are not yet engaged," Mary said. She wasn't sure why. They were as good as. "He didn't come tonight either. I invited Zelda-er Miss Roth-instead."

Dowers smirked, "She's a charming young woman."

"She's a handful, that's for sure," Mart replied with a laugh. "She was so devastated when she was not invited that I figured I'd ask her to come along with me. I lost her the moment we stepped in the door."

"I'm sure she's fine," Mr. Dowers answered.

The music changed to a sweet and light song Mary was unfamiliar with. It filled her with more of the butterflies that fluttered against the walls of her stomach.

"This party is very lovely, Mr. Dowers," she said.

His smile was as warm as wool, "Please, call me James."

"James."

_So it is not a pen name. He is not who you think. This is James Dowers, who is still a perfectly amiable man without also being Dickon Sowerby. You're being a romantic fool, Mary. Something you swore never to be.  
_

Mary also noted that she found ease in being familiar with him, something she had never felt in her entire acquaintance with Lord Navarlen.

James lowered his voice, "Though that is a falsehood as well. A pen name, really. My true name wasn't _romantic _enough to put on a book cover."

Mary's heart nearly leapt out of her corset.

"I'm sure it's a lovely name," Mary could scarcely speak. _Please please please  
_  
James laughed, "It's a horrid name, truly. It's-"

There was a loud resounding crash from the next room followed by a high pitched squeal.

"I do believe I've found Zelda," Mary muttered.

The sped through the clamor of people all mumbling about the noise thought few seemed concerned enough to find the source.

The source was Zelda, standing in the study with a broken vase on the ground.

She looked up with watery blue eyes, "I'm s-so very s-s-sorry, Mr. Dowers."

Mary grimaced, walking to her young friend. Her left hand had a nasty gash that was oozing crimson blood.

Mary grabbed the hand and Zelda grimaced.

"Zelda, what did you do?" Mary pleaded. From behind, James stepped out with a handkerchief and stuck in on the wound.

"To stop the bleeding," he said as his attention turned to the shattered blue vase.

Zelda sniffed, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Dowers. I'll replace it, I will. I'm just so clumsy. It was an accident."

Clumsy, more like drunk, Mary thought. The accusing eyes she have Zelda must've said the same for she looked at the ground in shame.

_She must've been in here with someone_, Mary thought. _He probably left when the vase broke. Didn't want to pay the damage._

James knelt next to the rubble, picking up a shard and frowning at it. He put it down and stood up brushing off the dust.

"Nonsense," he said. "I never liked that gaudy thing anyway. It was a gift from my sister, which I think was out of spite." He gave Zelda a friendly smile, "Dry your tears. You owe me nothing."

Mary was aghast, "Mr. Dowers, you needn't."

"Nonsense," he repeated. "I'll take the fact that her lovely friend danced with me all night as ample payment."

Mary fought hard not to blush.

He locked eyes with her, "And please, call me James."

**OOO**

"He's mad for you," Zelda said for the tenth time.

Mary scoffed, "He's not."

"Yes, he is," Zelda hiccupped as the carriage bounched around. Her eyes were half shut as she began to nod off. "So mad for you."

Mary gazed at his house, shrinking in the distance.

_"It's a horrid name, truly. It's-"_

_What? Who are you? What is your name?_

_Please be Dickon Sowerby_, Mary prayed.

_You are a fool, she told herself._

_A bloody fool._


	5. Flirtation

"Good morning, Uncle," Mary brushed her hand on his shoulder as she walked past his chair in the study.

He nodded up from his tea, "Good morning, my dear. How was the party?"

"Wonderful," she poured herself a cup. "I had a lovely time."

"It seems our Zelda had such a wonderful time that she felt it very much so this morning."

Mary gasped, "Was she ill?"

His head bobbed solemnly.

Taking a sip of her tea she held back a sigh, "That girl needs a constant chaperone."

"I thought you were her chaperone." Her uncle added.

Mary swallowed her shame, "I'm sorry, uncle. I should've kept a better eye on her."

He gave her a warm smile, "It's all right, Mary. I'm just happy she didn't do anything too silly. I know she isn't mine to worry about, but I still worry about her." He took another sip of tea, "Though I can see why she acts out, with a sister as strict as Elizabeth."

"Uncle!" Mary tried to sound scolding but found herself giggling instead.

He shrugged. The clock near them chimed eleven. Mary gazed out the window. Half of it showed the lush green of their yard while the other half showed the bustling streets of the city. Mary liked the contrast. Her two favorite worlds both outside one window.

Her Uncle spoke, "Mary, how do you feel towards, Lord Navarlen?"

"He's a respectable man," she said as she had said many times before. "He's a very amiable man."

"Well, don't get too passionate," he laughed. "Those are facts, Mary. I asked how you _felt_ towards him."

Mary tried not to let her face betray her indifference, "I admire him. He is very kind to me." Her Uncle was not convinced. Mary felt her facade slipping and could not keep it up, "I could do a whole lot worse, and I'm not sure if I could do better. I know that he would not harm me or disrespect me. He would be a good father and a good husband."

"But you do not love him," Uncle Archibald finished.

Mary stared into the milky brown of her tea, "I'm not certain I'll ever find love, Uncle. Perhaps I'll just have to build it."  
**ooo**  
Even as the carriage rocked to a halt Mary was still second guessing her decision.  
_  
Go home. Just go back home._

No. I'm just repaying him. I'm doing a simple errand.

You just want to see him because you fancy him.

Mary fought away her blush.

The coach door opened and Mary stood in front of the house she'd been at the night before. It looked different in the daylight. Less looming and mysterious. More friendly and warm.

Even as she knocked on the door she doubted her decision. Part of her hoped no one would answer. She could go back to her home. Back to her safe home where it was predictable.

Where it was boring.

The door opened on a lanky butler.

"Miss Lennox?" He asked.

Mary was so stunned he knew her name that she almost couldn't speak.

"Yes," she sputtered. "I'm here to see Mr. Dowers. He's not expecting me-"

"Have you finished the book already?" Called a friendly voice from inside. J. S. Dowers sauntered coolly to the door as the butler stepped aside. "Do come in. Thank you, Oliver."

Mary smiled and obliged, "Thank you. And no, I have yet to start it actually." The butler offered to take her coat and gloves but she shook her head. "I actually wanted to repay you for the vase. I still feel so awful."

James laughed, "You've nothing to apologize for. I've told you, the vase isn't important to me. You needn't pay me for it." He motioned to a small sitting room, "Would you like to stay for a bit, since you are here after all?"

You should say no. You did what you came to do. Just go home.

"Yes, thank you," Mary said as she followed him to a long back wooden chair. She sat, placing her purse on her lap.

He sat as well in the chair next to hers. There was something oddly familiar and comforting simply sitting next to him. She liked sitting next to him, simple as it was.

He smiled, "It's not your vase to repay anyway."

"Yes, but I knew Zelda wouldn't do that."

That made him laugh. Mary liked his laugh. It was warm like a home.

"Would you like a copy?" He asked. "Of the book, I mean. I have at least ten."

Mary simpered, "Oh, you needn't-"

"I insist." He stood and pulled a copy from one of his many book shelves. Mary tried not to stare as he did so and tried not to blush when she did.

He walked back, holding the book proudly, "Here you are. Fresh off the press."

Mary looked at the blue cover embossed with gold lettering spelling out _The Castle's Key_ by J. S. Dowers.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, running her gloved finger down the cover. She wanted to touch it with bare hands but knew that was improper.

He smiled proudly, "I think so. I'm very happy with how it turned out. I think it's my best work."

"How did you start writing?" Mary asked, hoping she wasn't prying too much.

Dowers sat with a huff, a thoughtful look upon his face. "I dabbled a bit with it during the war. I became more serious about it later. I thought traveling would inspire me, but mostly my past is what gave me answers."

"And what is your past?" Mary pried further.

Mary knew she was being ridiculous. If he was Dickon, he would've told her by now. He wouldn't be playing around with her like this.

_Or maybe he has a reason for concealing himself._

You are ridiculous.  
  
His head dropped to his chest, "Mary, I-" he smiled, stopping himself. "Miss Lennox, I-"

"Call me Mary," she told him.

_It's him. I know it it's him._

She felt like crying and she wasn't sure why.  
  
There was a knock on the study door. Dowers moved away from her instantly. He regarded the knocker with a raised brow.

"Yes, Oliver?" He asked.

Mary turned to the butler who'd answered the door earlier. He stood up straight as though a bean pole grew up his spine. His black hair was receding a bit and his face had quite a look of bewilderment.

"The war office called, sir," his voice was very soft.

Mary watched as Dowers's jaw tightened dramatically. The brow lowered, hooding his light eyes.

"Yes?"

The butler swallowed, "The war, sir. It will be over as of noon today." He let slip a small smile, but quickly covered it up.

Dowers's face shifted immediately. A grin the size of the moon showered his face with light.

Mary's heart leapt, causing a smile to play on her face as well.

"That is most excellent news!" James stood up immediately. "We must have drinks. Miss Lennox, what would you like? Champagne? I think this calls for champagne!"

Mary didn't have any time to answer for he bounded off in an instant. He came back just as quickly with two flutes of the sparkling white drink.

"Thank you, sir-er-James," she said.

He held out his glass, "To peace."

"To peace," Mary said, chiming the glass and taking a sip. _It's far too early for drinking, Mary. And drinking at a strange man's house as well._

He isn't a stranger to me, she countered.

A plaintiff look painted his face as he sat down and sipped the fizzy drink.

"So you served in the war, James?" Mary asked.

"Yes," was his curt answer. Mary expected no less. Men did not like to talk about the war.

She continued, "Lord Navarlen did as well. He was actually a general at one time."

"Is that so?" James sounded very disinterested. Mary regretted bringing it up. "How is Lord Navarlen anyway?"

"He is well," Mary answered calmly. "We're having dinner on Friday."

James gave a small smile, "That sounds nice."

"Yes, I think it shall be. We're going to a very fine restaurant."

Mary was not a simpleton. She knew why men took women to very nice restaurants. He meant to propose. She knew that.

She just wasn't sure what she was going to say.

"Are you going to the ball on Thursday?" He asked.

Mary grinned, "The Masquerade? Yes, I am. I'm so excited. I've never been to one."

"Neither have I," he answered with a sheepish look. "Society is still fairly new to me."

"You're doing very well in it," Mary said. "Zelda fancies you quite a bit."

She wasn't sure why she said it. It was a stupid thing to say. Did Dowers fancy Zelda? Is that why he didn't worry about the vase?

Was Mary very wrong? Was she simply letting her imagination get the best of her once more?

Dowers mouth twitched, "She's a very spirited young girl. I'm far too boring to appeal to someone like her."

"I do not think you are boring," Mary answered, simpering.

James met her eyes, "I'm very grateful for that."

His eyes were so like hers. The same lightness and openness. His gaze made her feel positively naked, like he could see her very soul. She felt something stirring inside of her that she'd only felt a few times before. This strange wanting she did not know. She knew that if she did not keep it contained it would swallow her whole.

The clock chimed the hour. Mary saw that her drink was gone. Yes, that's why she was feeling so strangely. The bubbles inside of her were from the champagne, not from him.

He dropped the gaze, "I'm sorry to have kept you so long, Miss Lennox."

"Mary."

"Mary," he grinned. They both stood and both hesitated to move.

Then he did something most unexpected.

James took her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss there. It was not an uncommon gesture, but still not one regularly done. Mary couldn't remember the last time a gentleman had kissed her hand.

The bubbles in her stomach threatened to spill over.

"Till Thursday then," he said.

With a copy of her new book in hand, she left his home.

Her head swirled around and around, filling with the most scandalous of visions.

His kiss had felt so wonderful on her hand.

She wondered how it would feel upon her lips. 


	6. A Revelation

Mary had the most peculiar dream.

She couldn't remember all the details, but remembered the pleasure she felt from it. She remembered that someone was there with her.

She remembered that it was Dowers.

"Miss?" It was Annie, stepping inside with Mary's dress over her arm.

Mary fought away a blush. She almost wondered if Annie had seen anything. Which of course she hadn't, unless she was a mind reader.

_Calm down you ridiculous girl,_ Mary scolded herself.

She couldn't imagine how her mind was so fixated on Dowers. The man had only been in her acquaintance for a week. Why did she think of him so much? Why did she wonder if he thought of her?

If he were Dickon (not that she believed he was) why was he being so secretive? Why had he trifling with her so?

_That's it. I will ask Dowers when I see him._

_He'll think you're mad._

I will_ ask him._  
**OOO**  
Before the masquerade, Mary decided to being reading _The Castle's Key_.

It was about a small boy named Charlie who lived outside a very large castle. He'd always dream he was the prince and had the castle all to himself. 

It seemed a rather fanciful novel, but Mary read on.

Where Mary stopped, Charlie had traveled to a city to go to school.

That was when Elizabeth had stormed in and flung herself onto the couch very dramatically.

"Are you all right?" Mary marked her page with a flower.

Elizabeth's face was as red as a rose, "Zelda is driving me mad! She's insisting on going to the party! She wasn't even invited to the party!"

Mary crinkled her brow, "Haven't you told her that?"

"Yes!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "But she insists that someone _has_ invited her! And she won't tell me who!"

The clock chimed the hour and Mary stood.

"Well, perhaps she does have a date," Mary said. "I need to go get dressed. Excuse me."  
**OOO**  
Victoria was there.

The mask couldn't hide her friends beautiful blonde curls.

Mary's own mask was pink and gold and flared out to the sides. It only covered half her face, leaving the bottom half free.

She grabbed her friends arm, "You're beautiful, Victoria."

She hushed her, "No one's supposed to know who we are! That's what makes it romantic and mysterious," she sang the words.

Mary giggled, "Oh, yes. Very much so."

Victoria looked around, "Do you recognize anyone?"

Mary looked around the large ballroom. The D'Eyre family had thrown a ball in honor of their son's impending wedding. They had spared no expense in the doing of it. The ballroom was beautifully decorated with more flowers than Mary had seen in years. The room bustled with beautifully dressed people in ornate masks.

But Mary could not recognize anyone.

Well, maybe one.

Lord Navarlen had not worn a mask. He came to greet Mary.

She tisked, "Where is your mask, sir?"

He simpered, "I couldn't find one. Besides, I'm not the biggest fan of them." Lord Navarlen offered his arm, "Care for a dance?"

As if Mary could refuse.  
**OOO**  
Mary found an empty hallway to sit alone and catch her breath.

She'd danced two dances with lord Navarlen, both up-tempo lively dances, and she needed a rest.

And she wanted to be alone.

Mary gazed at the dancers, all wearing their masks in a myriad of colors.

She thought of her childhood in India, and the lavish parties she was never allowed in to.

That could not stop her from watching. Mary spent hours of her early years watching the extravagant parties her mother and father had thrown for all of their guests.

There were dancers, with their exotic and sensual moves. There were rich men clad all in gold. There were animals of every kind and people who looked just like them.

It was like watching a fairy tale.

It wasn't quite as splendorous as all that tonight, but still mystical. The masks that hid the guests' faces gave a sensual and mysterious air that reminded her of India.

Mary hadn't even noticed that someone had sat beside her.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Mary jumped and Dowers laughed.

She scowled at him, "Announce yourself next time please, James." Her voice ringed with a light laugh.

He was the handsomest man she ever saw.

His black suit fit him perfectly, outlining his slender body. His coppery, wavy hair was slicked back, a silver mask covering the top half of his face. Easily recognizable was his facial hair; the circle like strip of hair orbiting his lips.

"How on earth did you know it was me?" He asked with a smirk.

Mary reached with her gloved hand and cupped his face, "This gave it away." Gingerly, she brushed her thumb down from his mustache, over his lips and down his beard.

She pulled away instantly when he saw his eyes fixated on her and the wanting inside of them.

There was wanting inside of her as well.

"It is beautiful," Mary looked back at the party. She hoped as if she didn't address the previous moment it would be forgotten. "It reminds me of India."

He moved a bit closer, "Did you grow up in India?"

Mary raised her brow, but realized that Dowers couldn't see the expression from under her mask.

"How did you know that, sir?" Mary asked with a playful tone. I know who you are, is what she meant to say.

Dowers leaned in more, "I told you to call me James."

"That seems awfully trite when it isn't even your real name, _James_."

She was getting very good at this game.

His eyes held her there.

Until someone grabbed her shoulder.

"Mary!" It was Colin, out of breath and red faced. "Mary, it's father. He's been taken to a hospital."

Mary stood instantly, causing Dowers to stand as well.

"What? Why?" Mary pleaded, grasping her cousin's hand.

He wheezed a breath, "One of the butlers, Moseley, found him in the library. He wasn't breathing, Mary...my God..."

Mary covered her mouth with her hand.

Her uncle. Uncle Craven who'd taken her in when no one else had. Uncle Craven who treated her as though she were his own daughter.

Uncle Craven was dying.

Mary ran her fingers through her hair. A nervous habit she'd developed long ago.

"I need my coat. And my bag." She peeled off the ridiculous mask. "I have to go." Mary turned back to her cousin, "Who told you all this?"

"Moseley. He just came with the cab to tell me. We have to go _now_."

Mary nodded, glancing around the room. It was too big. Too full of people for her to get her things in a reasonable amount of time. She didn't even remember where she'd put them. She-

_Don't panic, she scolded herself. Don't panic. You know what happens when you panic. You don't want to have to be checked into the hospital as well._

"Lord Craven," Dowers stepped in. "You go on to visit your father. I can bring Mary in my coach so that she can get her things."

Colin looked quizzically at the author man. "Thank you, sir. Most kind of you." He looked to his cousin, "Is that all right with you?"

Mary felt a sudden surge of affection. If Uncle Craven had been like a father to her, Colin had been a true brother all these years.

"Yes," she said. "I'll meet you there. St. Patrick's Hospital?"

Colin nodded, "Yes. I will see you there." He leaned forward and gave a kind kiss on the cheek. When he pulled away, Mary could see tears in his eyes.

As he turned to leave, Mary turned back to Dowers.

"I'll get the coach," he told her. "I'll be at the doors in a few minutes."

He left so quickly that Mary hadn't the time to thank him.

She turned back to the party, on a hunt for her belongings. The coat and purse weren't hard to find. She'd left them at one of the tables.

What was hard to find were her companions. Mary knew that she shouldn't just leave without informing at least one of them where she was going.

It was Zelda who found her first.

"Mary!" Her pixie like face filled with worry. "I heard about your uncle. I'm so very sorry."

Mary slid into her coat, "Yes. I'm off to see him now and... Wait, how did you hear about my uncle?"

"Miss Lennox," Lord Navarlen's voice sounded from behind her. She turned to him, his usual stoic face looking slightly bewildered. "Are you leaving?"

"Family emergency," Mary said. She almost laughed at his cocked head. Like a confused dog trying to understand its master. "My Uncle is very ill."

He straightened, "I will take you in my coach."

Mary smiled politely, "No need. Mr. Dowers has already offered."

Lord Navarlen's face lost its gentlemanly facade, "Oh. I see."

"I must be off. So sorry to leave," Mary turned and rushed through the clamor of people. The sea of masks was seemingly endless as Mary tried to make it to the door.

In all the hustle, Mary had nearly forgotten why she was rushing around in the first place. Her Uncle's illness was still a mystery to her. She didn't even know what he was sick from. She didn't even know if he was alive.

He was an old man, sure, but he was always healthy. And he was so kind. So wonderfully kind.

Mary wouldn't know what to do without him.

Dower's coach was right where he said. A footman helped her inside the black box where the author himself was sitting.

The inside was nicer than Mary had expected for a man of his position. The seats were well upholstered and the windows had beautiful red curtains around them. There was no bit of the night chill to be felt.

Mary smiled at the man across from her, "Thank you so much, sir."

Dowers returned the smile, "It's not a problem at all." He'd taken his mask off as well. "I'm sorry your night was cut short."

"It's all right," Mary sighed, looking out at the night as it rolled past the windows.

"You still have your dinner tomorrow," his voice was quiet.

"Yes," Mary said. There was no enthusiasm in her voice.

Lord Navarlen was going to propose. She knew that. And Mary should expect him. It was a good match. He was a good man. A wealthy man. He could give her a wonderful life. Their children would have wonderful lives.

She would be safe and secure. Something she truly needed to be if her uncle were to...

No. She mustn't think like that. She couldn't.

Marrying Lord Navarlen wouldn't be truthful. She did not love him. She could not love him.

_You don't live in a novel_, Mary scolded herself. _Be happy he is a good man. Stop worrying about love.  
_  
Mary glanced at Dowers again. So handsome. So intelligent.

So mysterious.

Why did he keep so many secrets? What did he have to hide?

"Will you accept his proposal?" Dowers asked suddenly. "Sorry. That was intrusive."

"Yes, it was," Mary snapped. Her eyes went right back to the window. He had no room to pry on her life. Not when he shared so little of his own.

They hardly knew each other. He had no right.

But that was cold. Even for strangers.

Mary exhaled, "I suppose I will."

Dowers waited before asking, "Do you love him?"

Now that was intrusive.

But Mary still answered.

"No," was the honest truth. "I do not."

The air inside now had a peculiar chill of its own. A chill formed not by the ice in the air, but the ice in their words.

Dowers looked at the ground, "It seems ridiculous to me to marry someone you do not love."

"That's a very romantic thought."

James smirked, "I do write romantic novels."

Mary wrapped herself further into her coat. She wasn't sure how long they'd been driving and she was sure how close they were to the hospital.

What she was sure of though was that Dowers was making her upset. How dare he sit there and talk to her like he knew her life? How dare he sit there and judge her silently?

Mary had once been a rather fiery child. She'd say things and act out in a very passionate manner.

Sometimes that child came out.

"Life isn't a romance novel, Mr. Dowers," she said. "That's not how it works. You can't just sit there and judge me for not 'following my heart' and all that nonsense. You hardly know me." She tugged her coat once more. She even dared a glance at him.

He was looking at her with an amused smile.

Mary squinted, "I don't even know what being in love is like."

Dowers leaned back, folding his hands in his lap, "It's when someone would do anything for you. Like forgive her friend for breaking a prized vase just to make her happy. Or give you a copy of his book. Or leave a party to drive her to a hospital."

Mary felt her heart fluttering but she would not drop her facade.

She scoffed, "Are you saying I should marry _you?_"

"Yes."

The nerve! The absolute nerve of this man. Just because he wrote about love did not mean he was an expert on it. It did not mean he was an expert on Mary. That loathsome, egotistical, conniving-

"You've known me for barely a week, sir."

Dowers gazed at her intensely, "I've known you a lot longer than that, Miss Mary. Or have you forgotten?"

There it was. The confession she'd waited for. Right in front of her.

He was Dickon and he was alive.

She would've jumped up and kissed him if she hadn't wanted to smack him so bad.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Her voice was small.

His eyes lit up, "You knew?"

"Of course I knew," she said. "So why didn't you just tell me?"

Dickon shifted, "It's complicated. I-"

"You should've just told me!" Her voice came out far more powerful than she had expected. "Jesus Christ, Dickon! You treated this like a game! Like I was a puppet! You made me feel a fool! The least you owe me is an explanation!"

The carriage shook to a halt.

Mary face was redder than the curtains and Dickon was too dumbstruck to speak a word. Without waiting for the footman, Mart pushed open the door and stepped into the chill night air.

The hospital loomed in front of her.

Dickon stepped out, "Mary, wait!"

"I'm done with waiting," she murmured for only her to hear.

She walked up to the hospital, not sure if she was crying for her uncle, Dickon, or simply for herself. 


	7. A Letter

Dickon was standing in the foyer when Mary came down the stairs.

She turned in an instant, rushing back the way she came.

"Mary, please," he called. She heard his footsteps behind her. It only made her wish to go faster.

It had been a long night. Mary had spent most all of it at St. Patrick's, sitting at the bedside of her grandfather. It had been a stroke: a brain attack when an artery bursts. He'd been found lying on the ground scraping for air.

Now he was lying in a hospital bed, doing much of the same.

"He _should_ recover," Dr. Shelley had said, though his _should_ had more emphasis than she had liked. "It's difficult with his back condition already there. He will be much changed."

Mary could infer from his voice that the change would not be a good one.

The worst of it all was Colin. He was collapsing from the inside. All his world, changed in an instant. His fiancé gone, his father in grave condition.

He sat at the bedside, tears lining the rims of his eyes but never daring to fall.

Mary and he barely spoke a word the whole night.

_I'll have to be married_, she thought. A dumb and selfish thought. How could Mary think of herself at this time?

But now everything was so real. Marriage wasn't just a concept, it was a reality.

She couldn't continue to live at Misslethwaite if Uncle Craven died. She couldn't live with Colin like an old maid.

She'd have to be married. She'd have to make a home of her own. A family of her own.

_I'll have to lie with a man_, Mary thought suddenly. Sex was a subject she knew little of. People rarely spoke of it, except in vague whispers.

Not that sex was a fearful thing to Mary. She had just hoped that when she made love, she would be doing just that: making love. Not awkwardly copulating with a man she has no desire for.

Everything came to a rushing reality in but a moment.

Then Mary would look back at her Uncle.

_You selfish girl. You're thinking of only your problems. Look at him. Look at his problems.  
_  
_Oh he's a man, _a bitter part of her thought_. Nothing is hard for him._  
**ooo**  
Dickon at least didn't follow her to the first floor. He knew better than that.

"Mary, I have to talk to you," he pleaded from the middle of the stairway. "I can explain it all. I can. Truly."

She turned. She hoped her face was stoic and unfeeling.

Judging by his expression, she had succeeded in that endeavor.

"I have no idea what game you're playing, _sir,_" she spat the word. "But I'm not a piece in it. I'm not a character in one of your books to be written into whatever scenario you feel fit."

"I know," he said. His dark coat and top hat were still on. Obviously, he'd expected this reaction. "I know you don't want to see me-"

"You are correct."

"But please open this," he pulled an envelope from the inside of his coat. "Please." He looked up, revealing his light eyes from under the rim of the dark hat.

She hesitated a moment, but reached out for it. It was weighted a bit in the middle.

Mary clutched it tightly.

"Open it," he asked, "you don't have to do it now, just soon. I hope it will illuminate some things for you." He turned away, going back down the stairs.

_He shouldn't be cross with me_, Mary though defiantly. _I've done nothing wrong. Is he upset I didn't rush into his arms? How could he expect that after all this time?_

_Five years. Five years he's been gone.  
_  
"Miss Mary," Annie's voice made her jump. "Young Lord Craven will be arriving in ten minutes."

"Yes, thank you, Annie," Mary said, nodding to the small girl. Annie have a small curtsy and continued on her way.

"Annie," the maid turned back around, "would you set this on my bed, please?"

Annie took the letter, "Yes, miss." She curtsied again.

_I will open the letter_, Mary promised herself. _Just not yet._

Not yet.


	8. Completely Mental

Mary had gone to the hospital.

Her Uncle had still not moved.

"He actually was awake a few hours ago," Colin corrected her. "He was very hazy, though, and couldn't move the right side of his face." His voice was very quiet. So controlled. "He's just sleeping now."

The hour passed with more of the same. Silence. Stares.

Mary though more on her life. More on Dickon and Lord Navarlen.

She'd wished she brought the letter. It would've been a better way to pass the time.

But she noticed that anger had started to grow in her.

She was _angry_ with Dickon. Completely and utterly furious. How could he appear after all this time and expect her to be in love with him? To forgive him for everything?

He'd ruined everything. Everything was perfect and planned.

_I was to be a Countess_, she thought ruefully. _No. I will be a countess._

It is untruthful when you love another.

_I DO NOT LOVE DICKON_, she scolded herself. I hardly know him. I haven't known him my entire adult life. While I was off learning manners and literature he was God knows where doing God knows what.

With God knows who.

Am I just a conquest to him? A rich, virtuous girl to win over.

She knew that wasn't true, but she was still upset.

_He has ruined everything._

Mary still felt the vitriol in her veins. Why wouldn't Dickon give her the truth? What had he to hide?

What if it was something horrible?

**OOO**

Within the hour they were back at their home and Mary was getting dressed again.

This time, for her dinner with Lord Navarlen.

Her dress was gold in color and bought especially for this occasion. She stared at her empty expression as Alice pined pearls into her hair.

"You look very beautiful, my lady," Alice said sweetly. At times Mary wished she were Alice. Such an optimistic and sweet girl.

Mary smiled, "Thank you, Alice. You can take all the credit for that."

Alice blushed and Mary knew the compliment was received.

Mary gazed back at her light eyes.

_You will say yes to him_, she told herself.

_You have to._  
**OOO**  
The ring was gaudier than she had liked.

The diamond was too large and the rubies surrounding it too bright. It wasn't Mary at all but it was very Lord Navarlen.

_Andrew. His name is Andrew. You may as well call him that if he is to be your fiancé._

If.

He hadn't even gotten down on his knee, he just placed the ring on her finger before she could even answer.

"It's beautiful," she said because that's what she was supposed to say.

Lord Narvarlen straightened in his seat, "Don't sound too thrilled, Mary."

"My lord, I-"

"Your courtesies are very well rehearsed, dear, but I see through them by now." He rasied his wine glass to his lips taking a large swig. "I know you do not love me, Mary. But I can be a good husband."

"I know, my lord," she said.

"Andrew," he corrected. After a moment, he cleared his throat, "And I know you fancy that writer of yours."

"I do not-"

His hand silenced her, "But I can offer you a better life than him." With his left hand, he reached across to squeeze her hands. "Just think about it, Mary. Will you? You needn't make any promises now, Just please think on it."

**OOO**

The weight of the ring was bothering her so she let her hand drop to her side.

Her arm felt paper atop the quilt on her bed.

The letter.

In an instant she sat upright, her head rushing from the movement.

The letter. His letter.

She flipped it over and a red wax seal held it shut. With a flick of her thumb, she broke it from the paper and reached in for the contents.

There was a small note with his beautiful loopy writing.

And there was dark and rusting skeleton key with a string around it.

It was the key to the garden. The one she had given him before he went off to war.

Mary's hand flew to her mouth. He'd kept it all this time.

He'd kept the promise.

With hungry hands, she reached for the note.

_Consider this a promise kept. _

_I did not mean to offend you last night, Mary. I promise I can explain everything you want to know. Please come to visit me._

_-JS_

Her heart beat faster than it ever had before.

Mary wanted her answers. Mary wanted to see him.

She glanced up to her clock. It was nearing midnight.

_You are absolutely mental if you go to see him at this hour._

**OOO**

Within ten minutes Mary had dressed herself in a blouse and some trousers and tucked her hair into a large floppy hat.

Tiptoeing as best she could, Mary left through the kitchen and out to the stables where she mounted her horse Felicity.

Within fifteen minutes Mary was riding to Dickon's home.

The garden's key bounced against her uncorseted chest as she rode off into the night.

_Absolutely mental_, she thought.

It made her laugh.


	9. Beastly

She was free.

Mary felt the spirit of adventure pouring through her like her very own blood. She hadn't done anything so reckless and wonderful in years. This childlike spirit of wonder poured through her as her horse carried her off.

It was wonderful to ride alone at night. Mary felt in control of herself. In control of her destiny. She had no escort, no one telling her what to do. She was absolutely free.

And she was absolutely intent on her endeavor.

Mary arrived at his house swiftly, and was quite surprised to find him on his porch. She almost thought he'd been expecting her until she took off her hat, her light curls tumbling down around her, and saw the dumbstruck look upon his face.

"Mary," he breathed as she dismounted her horse. As he walked nearer, Mary tied the beast to a post. "What are you doing here?"

She turned to him, "You have to tell me."

There was something oddly sensual about his casual attire. It reminded her of the Dickon she knew before, but now grown into a handsome man. His shirt was unbuttoned some and not properly tucked into his brown pants. His hair was messy and curly.

It made her whole body feel wonderfully warm.

He squinted, "Tell you what?"

"I want to know," she continued, "why you didn't write. I want to know why you didn't tell me right away who you were."

This adventure had breathed new life into her. She was confident. She was powerful.

He paused. Mary watched as his hands went to his hips, and his mouth tried to find the words to say.

"You're silent for five years and then you appear and ruin everything!" Mary spat the words at him.

He jerked up, "Did you come here to attack me? Because it's very late, Mary, and I don't need to hear this from you-"

"Yes, you do need to hear it!" She was growing impassioned. She was free and she was fiery. She was the girl she was when she had come from India: wild and passionate. Not a lady at all.

She wasn't even wearing lady's clothing.

His anger stunned her and intrigued her all at once. No one in society was angry. No one showed any bit of emotion. Mary had missed her wild past of tantrums and outbursts. She'd missed wild people like him as well.

Something in her felt new though. This anger was driven by some new beast she hadn't yet tamed. A new hunger was burning inside of her, but for what she was not certain.

Mary raised her left hand, showing the ring. "I am to be married, Dickon. It's all been planned."

"Marrying a man you don't love, what a _martyr_ you are." His words burned like fire.

"Do _not_ mock me, Dickon Sowerby," her voice was loud enough to wake the servants. "You've been gone for _five years_. You don't even know me!"

Dickon threw his arms out, "Then why are you here? Why come to me in the middle of the night? To yell at me? To torment me? Why!"

Mary's heart raced like the beating of a drum. It was dancing like the Indian women of her childhood. All these feelings she didn't know we're filling her up and very close to drowning her brain with them.

The way Dickon was looking at her was terrifying and intriguing. Everything about him was exciting and scary.

"Why did you even talk to me that day at the benefit?" Mary asked quietly. "Why didn't you let me go?"

Dickon took a step forward and then another. Mary nearly pulled back for fear he would strike her. But the hand that reached for her face was gentle. A gentler touch than she'd ever known. A hand on her hip pulled her closer to him.

His breath was warm on her face.

He kissed her.

No, he did not kiss her: he consumed her. Mary felt every bit of her being sucked into him while she inhaled all of him as well. Those five years were gone. Everything was gone. There was only them. There was only now.

She did not want to stop. She wanted to be in this moment forever.

Dickon's lips broke from hers, but only so he could lead her through the door and into his home. Everything was dreamlike to Mary. She wasn't herself. She was a new, primal version of herself with only one thought: him. She must be connected with him.

Her vision was hazy and tinted in warm hues as he came to kiss her again. She felt the wall behind her back that he had set her on. Without even thinking about it, Mary's hands made for his shirt and began undoing the buttons. Dickon pulled away from her lips to unbutton her shirt as well.

He stopped midway when the garden's key caught his eye.

Mary saw a faint smile on his face as he leaned forward and kissed her neck and then her collar bone.

She realized she was making noises. How long had she been doing that?

_He is mine_, she thought. _I am his_.

It sent shockwaves through her.

Dickon's kisses came back to her lips.

And then the doorbell rang.

Mary woke from her dream.

She was out of bed in the middle of the night at the home of a man who was certainly not her fiancé kissing him in a very unladylike manner.

Her face was flushing.

Dickon grabbed her shoulders, "Go to the study." He instructed her.

Mary nodded, flustered and very embarrassed. With swift and light feet, she raced off to his study and shut the door behind her.

She fell onto his couch, furiously buttoning her blouse. Her hand ran across her collar bone. Only moments ago it had been warm from his kisses.

The flush in her cheeks rose.

_That was most uncalled for_, she scolded herself.

And wonderful, a different part said.

He's not your husband. He's not your lover.

_Lover_. The words made her insides twist and turn.

His lips had been so perfect against hers. So fitting.

Mary had felt more passion in that brief moment than she had in her entire courtship of Lord Navarlen.

The ring on her finger felt heavier than ever.

A thunder clap outside shook her to the core, bringing her off of her cloud.

_Felicity_! She thought of her house caught in the rainstorm. She'd have to move her.

You will be leaving soon, she reminded herself.

The fire across the room cackled, laughing at her situation.

A light knock sounded and soon entered a brow-furrowed Dickon.

Followed by Annie.

Mary stood, "Annie?"

Annie was soaked in rain. The maid's hands were clutched to her chest. Terrified eyes darted around the room. The poor lamb was obviously nervous as she fiddled with the small ring on her slender finger. She was shaking as well, but from nerves or rain Mary could not tell.

"I...I saw you leave, Miss Mary," Annie started without looking in Mary's direction. "I thought maybe you'd gone to the hospital, but you would've alerted people if that were the case."

Dickon stared very intently at the little maid, as if daring her to speak.

Annie looked at the rug, "So I went to the room and found the letter and I followed you here." She finally met her mistress's eyes, "I just wanted to make sure you were _safe_," Annie leaned on the word, locking eyes with Annie.

Mary knew immediately what the maid meant by safe.

Annie looked down again, "It was foolish of me. Forgive me. I'll leave in the morning. I resign. I-"

"Nonsense," Mary said. Her eyes searched the room for a throw of some sort and she found a pile atop a cedar chest. Mary grabbed a maroon one and wrapped over the maid's shoulder. "You poor think, riding here in this weather."

Annie smiled a bit, "It only started raining when I was nearly here."

Mary looked to Dickon. He seemed more confused than the maid. She gave him a look to say _'I'll handle this_.'

"Please, sit," Mary gestured to a chair by the fire. Annie did just that, clutching the blanket tightly. "You must be so bewildered." Mary said as smoothly as she could. She gracefully sat on the seat apostle Annie. "Mr. Dowers and I were very good friends as children, though I just made the correlation very recently."

Annie's eyes revealed nothing.

Mary's voice was as gentle flowing as a brook, "You know how Lord Navarlen can be, Annie. My meeting with Mr. Dowers during the day and in public would be seen as scandalous so Mr. Dowers and I arranged to meet this night and simply catch up." Annie said nothing.

"The war separated us." Mary continued. "Mr. Dowers grew up near my childhood home. We were great friends."

Annie blinked, his eyes flitting to Dickon then back to Mary.

She nodded, "Yes, of course. I understand."

Mary smiled as gently as she could, "Thank you, Annie. I knew you would." She dropped the smile, "It would be very bad if anyone found out about this, Annie. Please, as a friend, keep this quiet."

Annie nodded.

Dickon cleared his throat, "I'll get you some tea…my lady." He said to Annie. He promptly left the room.

Annie tugged the blanket, "No one's ever called me 'my lady' before." She leaned forward, pushing her brow down, "Mary, I'm sorry I worried. I just...I know the _things _that men do."

Mary leaned closer, "What do you mean?"

Annie sat back against her chair and suddenly her face was very grim. Dark storm clouds covered her usual sunny disposition. Mary suddenly wondered how she never saw the clouds around Annie before. She wondered how she'd been so selfish to never notice that sliver or darkness about her maid.

Annie shut her eyes, "I had a friend named Steven when I was eleven. Steven was fifteen but we were the best of friends." Mary knew were this story was headed but didn't want to believe it.

Not Annie. Who could've ever harmed, Annie? Poor, sweet, innocent, Annie.

Annie's eyes met Mary's, "He used me, Mary. I think you know what I mean."

Mary simply nodded.

"He said it was okay because we were friends but I knew it was wrong." Annie pulled at the blanket again. Thunder clapped and the lighting lit the study. "My mother found out and quickly sent me away. She tried to get Steven punished but nothing came of it." Thunder once more. "That's why I came after you, Miss Mary. I wanted to make sure you were _safe_."

Mary just stared at the maid. Before her eyes Annie had grown in years and maturity. Her nerves and hirers were not a side effect of naïvety, but a side effect of maturity.

The thought of Dickon ever abusing or disrespecting Mary never crossed her mind. He simply was not like that. She couldn't believe that anyone was like that.

Mary felt vile. All the times she'd complained about her nervous little maid seemed foolish. Mary never knew. She could never have imagined such a fate upon anyone.

_Here I complain about marriage. Something so trivial and stupid as marriage. I am selfish. I am vain._

Mary leaned forward and took Annie's hand.

"You are a far better lady's maid and friend than I deserve," Mary said. "You are kind and compassionate and wonderful. I'm sorry such a horrific thing happened to you."

Then the study's door opened and Dickon came in with a tea tray. He'd brought cups for himself and Mary as well.

"As soon as the storm passes I will escort you two home," Dickon said as he poured the tea. "Discreetly, of course." He added with a grin, "Until then, you are welcome to a guest room."

"You are very kind, sir," Annie cupped her tea like it was a thing of beauty.

Dickon gave her a light smile, "It is no problem. I have five guest rooms and no guests to put in them."

Annie sipped her tea once more, "I think I may lie down for a bit. The rain has got me feeling a bit ill, sir."

"Of course," Dickon nodded. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll show you to a room."

Mary watched as they left the room.

She exhaled for the first time in minutes.

Suddenly realizing just how exhausted she was, she let her head drop into her hands.

The coolness of the ring on her forehead reminded her of the other stress in her life.

_What am I to do?_

"How are you, Mary?" Dickon asked. She hadn't even heard him come in.

Mary looked up to see he was seated in the chair Annie had just vacated.

_My mind is reeling. I can't breathe. I just found out something about my maid that I had never imagined. I feel so awful that I knew so little of her.___

_I'm engaged to man I do not love. The man I do love is sitting right across from me and feels as though he is leagues away from me. He kissed me earlier and I'm very interested in kissing him again._

_But it is wrong. I am wrong._

_I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do._

She settled on: "I don't know. I'm tired, but I don't want to sleep."

"I understand," he said.

_You do not._

Mary remembered the impassioned moment they shared just minutes ago. She wanted to return to it.

She wondered how far she would've let him go.

Mary knew she wouldn't have stopped.

_Perhaps it was best we were stopped_.

She couldn't imagine why though.

Her eyelids were heavy and threatened to block out her vision.

"Go to sleep, Mary," he said with a small laugh. "I won't mind, honestly. I'll wait for the rain to stop and wake you when it does."

She nodded dreamily, letting her head nod to the side. She didn't want to go up to a guest room. She wanted to lie here with him near her.

Mary drifted off to sleep quickly with the rain singing her a lullaby.

She did not dream. 


	10. Regrets

**A Dickon POV! Hooray!**

**Just a quick A/N to say thank you for all the lovely support! I love to read the comments so keep the coming!**

**ooo**

While Mary slept easily, Dickon did not sleep at all. Even gazing at her beautiful slumber didn't make him tired in the faintest.

Perhaps it was the tea or the general excitement of the night, but his mind would not rest. It could not rest.

Mary looked so wonderfully peaceful asleep in the chair. He could've gazed at her for longer, but realize he would've looked rather queer staring at her if she woke up.

He decided to go to his desk. It was an old, classic wooden desk that had been loved dearly. It was the first piece of furniture he bought for his home. It was the one he used the most.

The blank paper sat atop the desk, mocking him with its emptiness. He usually wrote at night. Night was when his mind filled with stories and characters begging to be purged.

There were no characters tonight: there was only Mary.

_I should not have kissed her.__  
_  
Dickon's mind kept replaying their brief passion. It was the only thing in his mind since it happened.

Well, not the only thing. He'd visualized many times what could've happened if the maid hadn't shown up. That was another topic his mind favored.  
_  
__She is too innocent. I had no right to kiss her._

Dickon was only one and twenty, but he felt more like he was one and ninety. The things he'd seen...the things he'd done. It was more that most men did in two lifetimes.

_I cannot bring Mary into this. It is selfish. I am selfish.___

_I should not have kissed her._

Dickon glanced back at her. She still slept soundlessly.

_I should not still want her after all this time.__  
_  
Five years away from her had not weakened his desire. It wasn't as though he'd thought about her every day. In fact, there were many months where she or Yorkshire never crossed his mind.

But she'd find her way back at in there. A light haired girl or a thicket of flowers would remind him of her. He'd wonder where she was. What she was doing. If she had married.

And suddenly there she was, standing there at the library's benefit like some vision. She'd grown far more beautiful than he ever could have fathomed.

He hadn't expected to see her. He hadn't expected to still want her.

She'd been on the arm of Andrew Navarlen. That was another beast entirely.

Talk of Navarlen brought up his dread again: I have to tell her.

_She will hate me.___

_I should not have kissed her.__  
_  
"Are you writing?" Her voice was barely awake.

He smiled, "No. Just thinking."

He listened as she stretched, placed her small feet on the ground, and began walking over to him.

"Go back to sleep," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Mary placed her hands on the back of his chair. She radiated an incredible warm that penetrate straight to his core. She leaned forward, the key necklace dangling in his peripheral vision.

He stroked it gently, "It was my good luck charm." Dickon felt a twitch in his mouth. Almost a smile. "I wore it for so long."

"You can have it back, if you like," Mary's hand cupped around his own.

"No, I gave it to you."

Mary was very close to him now. She shouldn't be this close to him.

_I should not have kissed her._

He imagined doing far more than kissing her. He imagined holding her tightly to himself and feeling every part of her. He imagine taking her and-

Dickon averted his gaze, "It's still raining."

"Yes," Mary's eyes were light. "I was only asleep for a few minutes."

"Take a guest room, please, if you wish to sleep." He did not meet her eyes. He could not meet her eyes. "I can't imagine that old arm chair is comfortable."

Mary laughed. Her laugh was terrific, "It was not so bad."

_I should not have kissed her.__  
_  
Mary smirked, "Besides…I don't want to sleep." She moved closer, sliding her slender arm across the back of his desk chair. Very gracefully she lowered herself so that she sat across his knees.

"I want to do this," she pressed her lips against his.

Instantly her poison spilled into his mind. He forgot that he was not supposed to be kissing her. He did not care about honor or moral. All he thought of was her lips upon his. Her passionate, innocent, soft lips opening his.

He pulled away, "Mary, we shouldn't do this."

"Don't you want to?"

It was so simple a question he nearly laughed.

"Of course I want to," he said. "But you hardly know me, Mary."

She frowned, "You had no qualms earlier. Did I know you better then?" Mary was not easily tricked. She had not outgrown that trait.

She kissed him again. His hands rested against the small of her back as she pressed herself into him.

_This is untruthful. She doesn't know me. This is wrong._

_But it is so wonderful to kiss her. To feel he against me._

Her fingers entangled in his hair.

_It is late. Her judgement is skewed._

Worse than that, his judgement was skewed.

Dickon broke the kiss once more. His head was heavy. It hung lifelessly from his neck.

Mary's arms still held him, making his face closer to her breast than it should be.

"Should I tell you now or should I tell you later?" He said. "I promise you: It won't make the story any prettier." He looked up at her.

Her eyes were unreadable. They tightened at the sides, her mouth growing taught as well. Her arms still wrapped around him, leaving him closer to her than a man who is not her husband should be.

"What happened?" Mary asked. "Where did you go? Why didn't you write? Why didn't you tell me who you were?" She kept talking, "What of Martha? Where is she-"

Dickon kissed her again.

When he pulled back, she stared at him blankly.

"I just wanted to do that one more time," he admitted. "You may not want to do that again after you hear what I have to say." 


End file.
